Keep Us
by Cryselephantine
Summary: Short OS. Just a snippet into John and Sherlock's cohabitation during a stormy evening. John-centered. If you think there's something more that normal flatmates attitudes it's probably true XD


Another fic ask box thingy from Tumblr. By Moraniarty this time :). Put iTunes on randomizer, glanced at her userpic, got a fanfic prompt :D. Song is "Keep Us" by Peter Bradley Adams, it's quite awesome, you should listen to it :D Fandom: Sherlock. Enjoy :)

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>John looked up from his typing when he heard the telltale noise of the flat's door opening. He frowned a little when he saw his flatmate shrugging on his coat, muttering to himself. His eyes strayed to the window, that was still being battered by cold wind and heavy rain.<p><p>

"Where are you going?" He asked, a little incredulous.

He knew for a fact that Sherlock didn't receive any case lately. The man had taken great pleasure in making sure John knew how dreadfully bored he was.

"Somewhere else! I need to think and your thinking annoys me!" The only consulting detective in the world snapped back at him.

John just rolled his eyes and stayed sat as he listened to the other man walked down the stairs and out the front door in a heavy pount of feet that could nearly be considered childishly sulky.

Deciding to keep busy while waiting for that damn idiot to come back, the army doctor tried to keep writing up his article about the million pounds hairpin and the banker and everything, but his mind kept going back to thoughts of Sherlock, walking around in the middle of an early spring storm like that one.

Feeling the worry in him grow as the minutes ticked, John clenched his jaw. He was NOT going to go out half-arsed just because Mr Holmes was in a mood!… but Sherlock was out there, with only his damn coat to protect him from the elements and it had been nearly 30 minutes now. Finally sighing in an odd mix of frustration and worry, Watson stood up, grabbing his own jacket before leavingthe appartment with a frown.

The cold humidity and the lashing wind hit him as soon as he was outside the door. A slight tinge of phantom pain in his shoulder made him wince a little but he just turned up his collar and tried to imagine, sorry_deduce_, which way Sherlock would have gone. The street was clear, if curtained by the rain and lightened by an occasional lightening bolt. No Holmes, no car, no anything. After all, who would be crazy enough to be out in a weather like that one? Thank god it was a Sunday…

Going with a hunch, he turned left and walked swiftly up the street, he turned at the corner, his eyes widening when he found his wayward friend just standing there, eyes vague as he was lost in thoughts, in the middle of the bloody street.

"Sherlock? What the hell do you think you're doing?" He asked hotly, coming up to the man, gripping him hard and dragging him off the road.

"I thought even you had a better grasp of the obvious, John, I was thinking." The dark haired man retorted, looking strangely like a drown puppy, with his hair clinging to his skull and face and his clear sharp eyes standing out even more with how pale his skin looked.

"You could do that in the appartment you know…" John snapped back with a glare. "Look at you you're going to catch a cold, you bloody idiot!"

Without letting his friend time to react, he continued dragging him until they were back inside 221b Baker Street and steered him to the couch near the chimney, where a roaring fire was casting lights on the furnitures.

John kept on grumbling on grumpily about idiotic geniuses and impossible friends as he fetched a couple of towels.

"John-"

The army doctor, still in "doctor mode", manhandled Sherlock out of his coat, all the while, still growling at him.

"John? JOHN!"

_"What?"_

"I can do this on my own!" Sherlock replied tersely.

John jumped slightly when he realized that he had put a towel around the other man's shoulders and was reaching up to undo his shirt's buttons. Willing himself not to blush, he coughed lightly to hide his embarrassement and turned to the fire.

"Why the hell didn't you just go to your bedroom instead of running outside? You've seen how bad it was! Did you really grow that bored that you'd rather be sick than bored?" He asked in a tone that he hoped light.

"Being sick is just as boring, but I needed to think…" Sherlock answered, looking unrepentant.

Sighing again, John just grumbled and looked back at his friend. Sherlock's pallor had receided a little. His shirt and coat laid forgotten on the floor and he was dabbing his collarbone to get rid of the remnants of the rain. The doctor could see the slight trembling in the other man's arms. Of course, the idiot had caught a cold. Bloody fantastic!

Shaking his head at him, the older man went to the kitchen. Mrs Hudson had given them some soup the day before. He'd just re-heat some and force-feed it to Holmes if that was what it took.

He did just that and came back to find Sherlock, still in his completely wet, dripping pants, sitting in front of the chimney with a definitely sulky face. Sometimes, John really wondered why he kept living with that impossible man. But he just kept his quiet and settled the hot soup in front of the detective.

"You do realise, I could have done that myself?" Sherlock enquired, looked caught between amusement and annoyance.

"You do realise you've been alone, starring despondently at the fireplace for 20 minutes? I don't want to catch that cold so I better monitor you!" The former-soldier snarked back, looking on as Sherlock just sort of dabbed water off his hair.

Scoffing in a breath, John took possession of the second towel and proceeded to rub off the wetness in Sherlock's locks ignoring the man's yells of protest.

"You're an amazing man, Sherlock Holmes, but sometimes you should really think some things through before acting." John chastised his friend knowing perfectly well that the detective would surely just roll his eyes at him.

"If you really want to take care of me, find me a case!" Sherlock demanded back, ominiously.

"First we'll see and hope you're not falling ill for a simple cold?"

John shook his head again when he realised that his detective was still shivering. Grumbling to himself, John sat next to his friend and dragged him into a loose embrace, his arm surrounding the taller man's shoulders.

"You're frigorefied, Sherlock. Easiest way to pull your temperature up is body heat, now shut up or I'll tape your mouth off…" He threatened quietly when the other man tensed.

Sherlock looked at him with an unreadable expression before relaxing little by little.

"Bloody idiot." John muttered under his breath. "All of London and I end up with the one bloody idiot that's too intelligent for his own good…"

Sherlock stayed silent but a slight smile appeared on his lips as he relaxed completely against his friend.

The End


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